


Say Less

by one_golden_sun



Series: Poly Gay Trio Modern AU [18]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Little Space, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Predicament Bondage, Sex Toys, Threesome - M/M/M, Triad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_golden_sun/pseuds/one_golden_sun
Summary: Juuuust a little one shot in the PGT verse I hope you enjoy!





	Say Less

**Author's Note:**

> Juuuust a little one shot in the PGT verse I hope you enjoy!

2018 had been a strange, fever dream of a year. Everything had happened. Time went so fast, it felt like it had stood still. Nothing had changed. But everything was different. Since almost dying in the spring after taking a bullet to the side, John had spent more time than ever in his life saying ‘yes’ to the things that made him happy. Life was too short, he reckoned, and he would no longer waste a precious second on anything that did not directly contribute to his happiness. So that meant taking a step back from his work. Painting and drawing what he wanted. Saying no to social obligations he hated. Spending more time with the friends he loved. Soaking up every second with his fiances. And while he could not in good conscious ignore the blatant deterioration of politics happening in the world around him (no way Alexander would let him, even if he wanted to), he contributed what mental and emotional energy that he could to political discourse and resistance, but emphasized self care and living joyfully. He felt there was no better personal protest than a gay, polyamorous, man of color living a happy life. 

However, in addition to the looming, existential dread the political climate created, there was only one other stressful spot on John’s life, one that seemed to grow the closer and closer time marched towards 2019. Two words, that even just thinking them could send him into a tailspin of panic and emotional binge eating, crying jags and tension headaches. 

Two words that should be filled with joy and anticipation: wedding planning. 

Oh sure, it was fun. Sometimes. Lafayette had taken it upon himself to be wedding-planner-in-chief of the trio. He had quit whatever inconsequential job he had been working in the spring to take care of John after his release from the hospital. But as soon as John no longer needed constant care, instead of returning to work, his new career was full time wedding planner. The fun came in the vision, the cake tastings, the outfits, the venues. The event--or events, as it seemed--needed a lot of money and attention and called for someone like Lafayette to approach it with care and style and piles of money. The fun stuff wasn’t stressful. 

What _was_ stressful was running constant interference between Lafayette and Henry Laurens. Phone calls from Henry were a weekly occurrence these days, and the latest, on the eve of his 32nd birthday, was on the subject of invitation wording, of all things. 

Alexander was working that afternoon. Lafayette was at the gym. And John was alone, his iPhone like a brick in his hand, staring at it, the echo of his father’s demands and suggestions ringing in his ears. The constant frustration of trying to balance what his family wanted with what his lovers’ needed. The overwhelming, constant pressure to be the perfect son and perfect future husband. 

So when Alexander came home from work and found John, laying on the couch staring at the ceiling in the dark in silence, he knew some immediate intervention was needed. 

“Hey, babe,” Alex said, setting down his laptop bag, kneeling near John’s head at the couch. “How ya feeling?”   
John shrugged. 

“That good, huh?” He played idly with one of John’s curls, hiding how stressed and tired he was himself. Alexander often found solace in caring for John, and could feel his own bad mood ebbing away. “What can I do for you?” 

John shrugged again.

Deciding to test the waters a bit, Alexander didn’t take the bait. He stood, stretched, and made to leave. “Ok, I guess I’ll go--”

In a rustle of fabric, John rolled over and caught him by the pant leg. “Don’t go, Papi,” he whispered. Alex raised an eyebrow, surprised to hear John in his small voice. Small John generally didn’t brat, even when in a bad mood, and ignoring him when he first walked in was unacceptable. All that said, Alex knew exactly where he wanted this to go, but needed to guide John there. 

He knew what John needed. But John had to ask for it. 

“You’re sending me mixed signals, baby cakes,” he goaded, and sat on the edge of couch. Let John bury his face against the small of his back. “What’s got you down today? 45? The midterms? You weren’t watching the news alone again, were you?”

“No Papi,” he pouted, his voice muffled. “Father….is mad at me.” 

Ugh. Henry. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

John shook his head. 

“What do you want then, sweetheart? Pokey? A movie? Some snacks?”

“No, no and no,” John said petulantly. Shuffled closer. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want, baby boy…” Alex intoned, his voice half soothing, half sing-song. “And I can’t keep guessing.” 

John rolled to look up at him, his eyes big and trusting. “Don’t wanna think, Papi. Just...just wanna feel. Wanna focus.”

“Oh. I see. A distraction, huh?”

John nodded eagerly, bit his lower lip. 

“Now would this distraction be something...naughty?”

Another nod, accompanied this time by a light flush. 

“Last question. Has Jacky been a good boy or a bad boy?”

His eyes darted around as he thought. “I think I’ve been a good boy, but...but I want...want funishment.” 

Alex chuckled to himself, happy to hear that word making it into small John’s vocabulary. The concept of “funishment” was one they had introduced recently, incorporating more challenging and harder elements to their scenes when John subbed, even if he hadn’t done anything “bad.” He still hated pain and complete denial, so they reserved spankings and chastity for actual transgressions. But when John still needed to be taken apart...

“Alright baby, I got you. Your color?”

 

“Green, Papi, please--”

Alexander cut him off. “Bedroom. Strip. Collar. Knees. Got it?”

“Yes, Papi--”

“Repeat my instructions.”

“Bedroom, strip, collar. Get on my knees.” 

Alexander rubbed the top of John’s head. “Good boy. Go on.” 

Without any other delay, John scrambled off the couch and disappeared down the hall. Alex listened to him undressing, rummaging for his collar. Gave a John a few minutes of silence to reflect and anticipate while he himself planned. What items he needed. What set up he wanted. The steps he would take, the words he would use. He shot off a quick text to Laf, then joined John in the bedroom. 

***

Papi came into the room. He had left the lamp on, turned off the overhead light. Warm light. He was naked, like Papi said. Collar on, the tags in front. Kneeling on the floor, hands behind his back. Papi didn’t even look at him that closely, just nodded and went into the closet. John knew better than to try and guess what he was getting. 

“Eyes up,” Papi said. “Look at me.” He set something heavy on the floor. Chains rattled. He held rope. “This will be quick.” 

And this part was. Papi was good with the ropes, wrapping and pulling and knotting, fashioning a harness in the shape of a pentagram over his shoulders, across his chest, and then using more rope to bind his arms. Box tie. Everything snug and tight, like getting the best hug. Already John felt warm and calm, the ropes settling down the rabbit run voice of panic in his head. His cock was already taking notice, thickening up. He wished Papi would touch him. 

When Papi’s hand went lower, it wasn’t to fondle or stroke him; rather, he fit one of their more restrictive cock rings on him, one that both squeezed the base of his cock and his balls. It even looked like a little collar, had two metal rings on either side. Papi tapped John’s thigh, indicating him to spread his legs. He reached under him, clipped two short chains to the cock ring. 

“What are those for?”

“No talking, Jacky,” Papi said, but nicely. “Only colors, ok?”

John nodded. He was good. 

Papi tugged at his collar, made him step forward. Feet apart. “Don’t look down, ok? Just trust me.”

Finger slipped between his cheeks. Lube, the smallest bit of prep. John expected a plug, but instead, Papi told him to squat, like at the gym. Puzzled, John obeyed, lowering himself slowly, Papi guiding him. The tip of something hard and slick probed at his entrance, but Papi stopped him from lowering any further. That was good, the toy felt big, and he wasn’t prepped, wasn’t all the way ready…

Papi reached under him again. “This might be uncomfortable. You know your color words.” Two quick tugs and clicks. John felt his balls being stretched, and only when Papi stepped back the full weight of the tension on them was fully realized. 

“Does it hurt? You may answer out loud.”

“Not really. Not yet. I don’t like it, Papi--” Already his thighs were shaking from holding a half squat position. 

“I didn’t ask if you liked it. Wanted to check the tension.” He reached down, adjusting something. Two more clicks and his balls were being tugged further. He whimpered in discomfort, instinctively tried to lower himself to alleviate the tension. The head of the toy immediately breached him, and it wasn’t as big as he expected, but then when he sat back just a bit more--

“Like that, Jacky?” Papi teased. 

“Nngh,” said John looking up. 

“It’s a new toy. Has the charming name of anal cone. Starts small but the further you lower, the bigger it gets.” As he talked, he fumbled with something. Metal jingled in his fingers. “I have a little more work to do, so lord knows I can’t just stare at you this whole time, as tempting as it is.” 

A tinkling of two small bells. John couldn’t really crane his neck, not focusing like he was to retain his precarious position. The sharp bite of a clamp on his left nipple, then right. He hissed from the sensation. Nipple play wasn’t his cup of tea but--

“I know you hate the clamps, Jacky. But they look so pretty! And also…” Alex flicked one of the bells affixed to the end of the clamp. It made a pretty, delicate sound and the motion made John jump, causing a painful tug to his balls. 

“Papi!” John whined, immediately cut off from continuing when Alex shoved his fingers into his mouth. 

“Quiet. Suck.” 

John whimpered around his fingers, looked up at him with puppy eyes 

“When I’m done with this article, I need your mouth ready. Understand?” 

Another whimper, this one in a tone of understanding. 

“Now, I am going sit in my chair with my lap desk. You will stay here. The only words I should hear out of you are colors.”

A third whimper, and a nod as best he could. The tags at the throat of his collar jingled. 

“Good boy.” He slid his fingers free, took few steps back to one of the armchairs, where his laptop bag was waiting. Didn't even spare John another glance, just hummed under his breath as he unpacked his computer, settled into the chair, then starting clicking away on his keyboard.

With just the light from the laptop screen on his face and the lamp by the table, the room narrowed. Time narrowed. John’s world became just a few things: the tug on his balls, the pressure in his ass, the pinch of the nipple clamps, and the ache in his thighs. Holding the squat position became very difficult very quickly, the muscles in his legs and abs trembled. If he tried to alleviate the fatigue by straightening up, even just a little, he was met with the ring tugging on his balls. It was far enough that the stretching became painful. 

As he tried to adjust, his movements made the bells on his clamps ring, drawing Alexander’s gaze from his work. 

“Poor baby,” he mused, smirking. He continued to type. “Relax a bit; the cone isn’t that bad sweetheart. You’ve taken bigger.” 

Whatever he said next, John barely heard.

***

Sweat in his eyes. On his forehead. Neck. His thighs trembled. Shaking. Lowered a little. Too much. Papi laughed as he cried out. The toy was big, too big. Bigger than Daddy even and he hadn’t been really prepped. The toy was stretching him, that unbearable tightness and pressure skating the line between pleasure and agony. Pulled up when it became too much, the pressure. The pain. The pleasure. His bells jingled. Papi looked up. Papi laughed. Now his balls hurt, they were tugged and stretched. He twitched and twisted, tried to get comfortable, but it felt like his squirming made everything tighten. Too much. Not enough. 

Papi asked for a color. 

Green. Still green. He was ok. He could do this. He wanted to so this, make Papi and Daddy proud. Good boys gets good things. Papi went back to his work, his eyes on his screen. 

For a moment, a new emotion flashed in John’s overloaded brain: frustration. Not at the situation, exactly. But here he was, squirming like a worm on a hook, and Papi wasn’t watching, wasn’t looking, didn’t even appear aroused or interested. John adjusted, exaggerated sinking back on to the toy as far as he could stand, rocking back on it, fucking himself up and down a few times. The bells on his clamps went off again, but Papi didn’t look up. 

“Papi--” 

“I said be quiet, Jacky,” Papi snapped. Still didn’t look. 

John more or less ignored his order. Bounced up and down on the toy, not caring that everything hurt for a few seconds. He wanted Papi to look at him.

“Plea--please, Papi, I need--”

Papi hit a key on the keyboard forcefully, looked up finally. “That’s not a color, Jacky.” 

“I know, but I need you, please!” John managed to lift himself off the toy almost completely, ignored the shaking in his calves and quads, the cramps in the arches of his feet, the nasty yank of the tether to his balls. Stared at Papi from across the room, felt the tears spring to his eyes. 

“You’re fine,” Papi said, resumed his typing. “You can wait a little bit more. I’m almost done.”

“Then what, Papi?” John sniffled. Tried to shift his weight, but felt that he might topple over. His clamps tinkled. 

“What is you want, baby boy? A good dicking? Papi’s cock stuffed up your ass? Down your throat?” 

“God yes, anything. Anything but this, Papi.”

“Keep talking, sweet thing, and you ain’t getting jack shit,” he said coldly. Absently. Eyes on the screen. 

John clamped his lips shut, ground down his teeth. Tried to adjust, find that balance where the toy wasn’t too far in him, where his balls weren’t being pulled on, where his legs didn’t shake. Nothing worked. The sweat was pouring off of him now, despite the ceiling fan. Papi’s typing was slowing, sporadic. Editing. Revising. He was almost done, almost--

He shut his eyes. Tried to count the seconds between each position. He got to five before he had to sink back; his thigh muscles were screaming at him. The dark of his head swallowed him, and he forgot. Forgot everything but every tiny feeling in his overworked body, in the taut places of tension that bloomed inside of him.

The typing had stopped. 

There was the snap of the laptop shutting. Papi’s footsteps. John’s eyes remained shut. Suddenly he was being tugged but his collar, one of Papi’s fingers through the ring on the front. 

“Look at me, Jacky. We can make a deal, ok?” 

“Are you done with work, Papi?” he whispered. 

“I am. And I’m almost ready for you to suck my dick. How does that sound?”

John nodded, but was still trembling. “Please.”

“Good boy. I can tell you’re really trying. I’m willing to let you off your feet and onto your knees, but you gotta go back as far on the cone as you can. What do you think?” 

“Green, Papi, I can do it, but my balls, it hurts…” 

That was all the signal Alex needed. With a few quick clicks, John’s balls were free; free enough to push up, and off the cone. Relief flooded his legs as he moved out of the squat, falling into a kneeling position. “Not so fast, Jacky.” And by his shoulders he was pushed back, the toy slipping into him again. “Sit back. Far as you can go, sweetie.”

“Papi,” John whimpered. Felt his hole spreading to accommodate the toy, its ridges rubbing against his inner walls, making him feel like he was on fire. 

“A little bit more baby. There you go,” Papi said proudly, and John winced as the tether to his cockring was reconnected to the anchor point. It was so tight he couldn’t pull off, and it and effectively kept him snug and in place. The warmth of helpless and submission washed over him like a delicious wave, crawling up his spine and his neck and his scalp. He was stuck, trapped…

“Beautiful.” Papi took a step back to admire his work. “Don’t you look precious. Love seeing you like this. Your sweet little ass stuffed, caught by your balls.” He reached forward, flicked one of the nipple clamps, chuckled and John twitched and whined. “Hard nipples, hard little cock. Isn’t this what you wanted, sweet thing? A distraction?” His voice took on that teasing tone John so loved. “I should leave you like this. Let Daddy see too. Let him see what a nice piece of art you make. Would you like that?”

John didn’t answer, just whimpered. His cock twitched, and Papi definitely saw because he snickered again. 

“Of course you’d like that. You love being a slut for Daddy. Well, Daddy isn’t here, and this piece isn’t complete. Nope, not until you got some dick in you. Open up, baby cakes,” Papi said, unzipped his fly and pulled his dick out. He was still mostly soft, which was fine with John. He liked the feeling of Papi’s flesh in his mouth. He parted his lips, swallowed him down to the root, looked up at Papi with the glint of surrender in his eyes. 

“Fuck, that feels good.” Hips back and forth, using the wet warmth of John’s mouth to get hard. John groaned around him, around the mouth watering feeling of Papi’s growing erection. Loved to feel him thicken on his tongue, knowing that he might be impaled and tied and clipped and collared, but he still had an iota of power over Papi. He could make Papi hard. He could make him feel good. 

***

When the bedroom door opened again, and Laf finally entered, Alexander himself had lost track of time as well. John’s talented mouth tended to have that effect on him. By any measure, he never gave the most skilled blow-job Alexander ever had. He couldn’t deep throat, not really, but when he was in this sort of headspace and he would take Alex’s dick as far back as he could manage before gagging just a little it was absolute heaven, and he’d look up at him with those shining, big brown eyes and Alexander would be overwhelmed with the desire to go just a bit deeper.

Fuck.

“You, my love, are an artist.” Smokey voice in his ear. Hands on his hips. 

“How was the gym?” Alexander asked, managing to keep his voice steady. John, of course, had noticed Lafayette’s arrival and whined around the dick in his mouth, already craving attention. It pleased Alexander greatly to ignore him for the time being. 

“Productive, as always.” Lafayette’s hands slipped up the front of his shirt, squeezed a handful of soft tummy that he always loved to play with. Ran his fingers over the wiry dark trail of hair under his navel. Lafayette’s touch never failed to electrify him, even after a decade together. “And how long has our little one been in such a state?” 

“Like this? Eh, fifteen minutes maybe. Before that, had him in a squat over the cone. He _hated_ that, whined so much I had to shut him up.”

“Of course, of course.” Lafayette’s chin on his shoulder, gazed down at their fiance. Pressed himself against Alexander’s backside, let him feel his interest. “And when is it Daddy’s turn, mon chou?” 

“When I’m done,” Alexander countered, guiding one of Laf’s hands down his thigh. Fingers splayed, trailed over his skin. Brushed at John’s hair. Ran his hand up Alex’s body, gathered a handful of hair into his grip. 

“Is that so?” Lafayette purred. Alex felt his grip tighten and he yanked back on his hair, exposing his throat. Scraped his teeth against skin. Took hold of the base of his cock, fingers lined up with John’s lips. Maneuvered him back, just slightly, so he had room to work. 

Hand working back and forth. Alex looked as far down as he could, saw a sight he adored. His cock, Lafayette’s hand, John’s mouth. An onslaught of sensations that threatened to overtake him. He chuckled, tried to keep his cool. Out of all the combinations they had over the years, something about the primal simplicity of this one--dick, mouth, hand--was so perfect, so erotic he felt his balls tighten at the sight. 

“Fuck,” he exhaled. He had hoped for a little bit more time with John’s mouth. 

“ _Tu as été si vilain_.” Hand working him. Wet mouth. “Good boys wait. Like Jack.”

“He’s only...waiting...because--shit--he _has_ to,” Alex panted, canting his hips.

“Hmmm.” Lafayette’s mouth on his ear. “Will you come for me then, mon chou?”

Say less. A phrase Alex had picked up from a new reporter on his staff. Say less. He choked on the syllables, instead groaned and pushed himself past John’s gag reflex, spending himself in the back of his throat, feeling his cum spurt out of him so fast it made him dizzy.

“Such good boys I have,” Lafayette mused. Patted his hair. Surveyed John carefully as he swallowed Alex’s load. 

“Please, Daddy--” John started to whimper, but was cut off by Lafayette stuffing his fingers in his mouth. 

“Good boys wait,” he repeated, letting Alexander slump against him as he soaked in the afterglow. Alexander needed him; needed his sturdy warmth and his arms. He wanted to hold him until he was steady. Only then would he be ready for his turn with John.

He had so much of himself to give. 

A few more minutes of waiting wouldn’t hurt.


End file.
